Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match
by silverjigsaw
Summary: The elf Linwe and her friend Figwit takes it upon themselves to set the great heroes up with their true loves...EF, EL, AA.
1. Messy Heroes

**Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match**

I admit, I invented Linwe; I briefly considered using Galadriel, but that seemed silly. Everything else was made by Tolkien/Peter Jackson. Then I changed it. Silly me.

The title is from _Fiddler on the Roof_: it's a song lyric.

Enjoy.

-_The Author_

-----------------------------

"Urgh, the world is a mess."

Linwe looked to Figwit for an answer. He shrugged.

"You'd think with the Ring destroyed, the world could just clean itself up." Linwe sighed. "But _look_ at them. The White Lady lies dying and despairing in the Houses of Healing, Samwise Gamgee is silent in the Citadel, Faramir is wary of the people who try to save him, Eomer King is lost in his own halls, and Aragorn." She growled, low in her throat; a strange noise from an elf. "Too long have I worked on Aragorn. Too _well_ have I worked on Aragorn."

Figwit patted her hand.

"Our heroes are losing their lives, Figwit," Linwe said. "Something must be done. In fact, something _will_ be done. But what?"

Figwit thought a moment.

Linwe ventured to her washbasin. Hers was not as highly praised as the Lady Galadriel's, but it still did the trick. She filled it with water, and watched as the map of Middle-Earth flitted across its surface. She flicked her hand; it paused at Gondor, and, following her will, centered to the Citadel, where all of her heroes lay (for it was night, and Men have a tendency to sleep at night). Two were in the Houses of Healing; Fair Eowyn and wise Faramir.

"Fair, Faramir," she said. "Hmm. Lady Eowyn lies waiting in despair for her own death. Faramir is no different, only he paces." She smiled. "If her infatuation with Aragorn is any indication, she only enjoys the company of great men."

Figwit smiled.

"And Faramir, though not my favorite, is certainly a great man." Linwe tapped her lip. "But what would he see in her…"

Figwit looked at her incredulously.

"I _know_ she slew the Witch King," Linwe said. "But is that to be her only reknown? Is she not beautiful? Is she not intelligent, does she not have greatness _exuding_ from her at such a rate that it is no wonder she collapses from the use of it? Shall she not be a savior not only of the lands, but of her people?"

Figwit raised his eyebrows.

"There is a difference," Linwe insisted.

Figwit shrugged.

Linwe sat across from him. "She is greater than that," she said. "She is strong in body and mind, and beautiful, but so _fragile_ and _cold_ in person. Such a woman would be such a unique challenge to a man who enjoys challenges." She sat up straight up now, excited at having thought it the whole way through. "She can meet him on his level; and his level is such that he would enjoy a woman who is at his level. It is decided," she told him. "The Lady Eowyn and the Captain of Gondor shall be met and wed. But how? If she continues to lie in her bed she _will_ die, or just go unnoticed by her pacing lover."

Figwit made a small move to show he was listening, but he wondered when Faramir had become Eowyn's lover. It seemed rather presumptuous.

"You will send her dreams," Linwe told him. Figwit didn't look surprised; nearly all her schemes involved him, or dreams, or both at the same time. It seemed to be the only reason she kept the near-silent elf around, for she, with all her manipulation of water reflections and thoughtful ponderings of other creature's lives, couldn't manipulate a sleep pattern for the world. Figwit simply waited for what dreams he should send the Lady of Rohan.

Linwe went to her waterbasin, and splashed her finger in it a bit until she came to the image of Faramir, pacing the Gardens.

"You must make her wish to leave her bed," Linwe told him. "She sees honor in combat. Give her dreams of war. She will wish to join the fight at the Black Gates, a decision that must be made by the Steward of Gondor, Faramir, whether he wants to be or not."

Linwe turned and smiled at her friend. He smiled back.

"This will be fun," she said.

------------------

Figwit? Who's Figwit? Check it out on the web. I'd give you the website, but the site keeps on deleting the link and everything after the link. Kinda creepy, actually. Go on "google" and enter in "Figwit." You should get a .net site.


	2. Meeting

Been a while, sorry. I don't own anything about this except Linwe.

-_The Author_

* * *

Two elves were watching the proceedings take place; the very familiar Figwit, and Linwe, currently pacing. Linwe sat down and rubbed her hands together. "Here it comes," she said. "It'll be love at first sight, I know it."

Figwit put a finger to his lips, and they watched in eager silence. The Warden was speaking to Faramir, who was hardly paying attention. Faramir was looking at the ground, his arms crossed before him. Figwit was reminded of Linwe's little ramble yesterday, and all his little nods and shrugs to show he was listening. After he was done speaking, Eowyn herself came forward.

Faramir immediately dropped his arms and leaned backwards, looking taller. Linwe giggled and tapped her feet anxiously. Apparently Faramir had been paying closer attention than Figwit had thought. He asked her a few questions, to double-check the Warden's story, all of which Eowyn confirmed with a hint of annoyance.

"Why isn't she looking at him?" Linwe hissed.

Figwit shushed her again, to hear Faramir say, "I have no power to grant that. I, too, am a prisoner of the Warden's."

Linwe fairly squealed. Figwit began to feel faintly annoyed at her.

Eowyn looked up at last. Linwe did not make a sound; she even clapped her hands over her mouth to prevent it. Even so, his annoyance grew.

For some reason, Eowyn began to speak of the death of her uncle Théoden. Faramir listened closely, and in fact, the more she spoke, the more his interest grew apparent. When she finished, he said, "It still is not in my power to grant."

"So _kiss her_ already!" Linwe hissed.

Figwit glared at her. Linwe stuck out her chin at him and sat back to frown at her washbasin.

The irritation on Eowyn's face echoed Figwit's irritation at Linwe. Fortunately for Eowyn, Faramir was in a much more helpful mood.

"Is there nothing I can do for you, my Lady?" he asked.

Eowyn thought for a moment, and then said, "My window doesn't face east."

"That I can grant," Faramir said.

Linwe growled low in her throat. At least when she did that, it was cute, Figwit thought. Although it was less cute than when he wasn't annoyed at her. "Do something _more_," she hissed. "Figwit!"

He shot her a look. What did she think he could do?

Faramir rectified the situation on his own. "But in return," he said, "You must walk with me in the Gardens every day, and talk with me."

Eowyn blinked in surprise. "My Lord, I am not very good company."

"I desire company," said Faramir. "And I declare unto you, that you are very beautiful."

Linwe giggled as if she had been the one receiving the compliment.


	3. Are Still Dreaming

I don't own anything except Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author_

* * *

In Figwit's dream, someone sang a low, sweet song. There was water falling into a low, deep pool, and he watched a flower as it blossomed. He lifted his head to the flower, intent on sniffing its scent; he hadn't done so in so long. He opened his nostrils, ready and willing to take in the sweet perfume…

"Figwit."

That was Linwe's voice; why was she bothering him?

"Figwit, wake up."

Figwit popped open one eye. The other was still hidden in his pillow. It was so dark. He tried to remember where he had been in his dream. Linwe, he noticed blindly, had put a chain of flowers in her black hair, lifting it up from her moonish face. They smelled pleasant.

"There's a crisis," Linwe said.

Figwit rolled onto his back. Both his eyes were open now.

"The Gondorian Steward, Faramir, he's _left_ the Houses of Healing."

Figwit looked at her.

"He'll forget about her, I just know he will!"

Linwe leapt up. Figwit rolled over to look at her. She took a few steps forward, head bent in thinking. Her scarlet robe trailed behind her. In the moonlight it looked almost black. She tapped her lip, turned, and walked towards Figwit again, tapped her lip again, and then knelt before his bed.

"What does a woman do to get a man to notice her?"

Figwit grinned, amused.

"You're no help," she said. She leapt up and walked towards his door; she turned back around. "Figwit," she said, "Please, tell me, _what are we going to_ do?"

"Nothing," said Figwit.

"Nothing?" Linwe looked startled. "Nothing? But then he'll forget about her! Oh," she smiled, "I see. This is a test. If he really loves her – and he does, Figwit, he really does, I just know it – if he does he'll send for her. Or no, even better, go _to_ her. I like it." She set her smile on him. "Figwit, you're brilliant."

She turned in a wave of hair and scarlet cloth, and walked to the door. She turned, said, "As you were," and left.

Figwit rolled onto his back and sighed. He closed his eyes, and tried to imagine himself in the Undying Lands again.


	4. Of Love

Sorry I haven't updated in a while; I've been out of town and all. Well, now we continue the adventures of Figwit and Linwe, the matchmaker. I don't own anything except for Linwe, who's annoying on purpose, by the way.

-_The Author_

---------------------

Figwit left his packing and quietly followed his Lord Uncle Elrond into the bedroom of his cousin Arwen. He seemed to go unnoticed by Arwen, who lay upon her bed and stared out into the world. She traced a circle with the knuckle of one of her fingers, and although her eyes were aimed at the window, she was looking at something else.

Said Elrond, "Arwen."

Arwen turned and sat up, to look at Elrond.

"It is time," Elrond told her. "The ships are leaving for the Valinor."

Arwen turned her head.

"Go, now," said Elrond, "Before it is too late."

"I have made my choice."

Figwit felt awkward; this wasn't his dispute. He wondered why he was here at all.

"He is not coming back," Elrond stepped forward to look at her more directly. "Why do you linger here when there is no hope?"

Arwen looked up. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "There is still hope."

Figwit knew he was here to aid in an argument. He didn't understand the sides; he just knew he was on the side of Elrond in this. Elrond walked to the other side of the room, gathering, planning his next attack, the old general he was.

He said, "If Aragorn survives this war you will still be parted."

Figwit looked up. Elrond had shown him images in his wash-basin. Images of the Lord Aragorn's future, of his crowning, his son, his death, his funeral, of Arwen crying over him and wandering the woods, lost forever. _Now_ he knew why he was here. He was to send Arwen daydreams.

His beauteous cousin Arwen loved with Linwe's Aragorn.

Elrond continued.

"If Sauron is defeated and Aragorn becomes King and all that you hope for comes true, you will still have to taste the bitterness of mortality. Whether by the sword or by the slow decay of time Aragorn will die."

Figwit revealed to Arwen her future: the picture of Aragorn's funeral, and Arwen, in mourning clothes, still young and beautiful, crying for him.

The wind blew Arwen's hair back. She was crying already.

"There will be no comfort for you," Elrond said. "No comfort to ease the pain of his passing. He will come to death, an image of the splendor of the Kings of Men in glory undimmed before the Breaking of the World."

Figwit blinked a little at this sentence; it was hard to follow, but he understood. He changed the daydream. Arwen was now alone at Aragorn's grave, and Aragorn's body had been replaced by a fair statue.

Elrond continued his narration. "But you, my Daughter, you will linger on, in darkness and in doubt, as night falling in winter without a star."

He couldn't stand this picture; he changed the daydream to Arwen walking among the trees in the forest. Elrond didn't seem to mind.

"Here you will dwell, bound to your grief under the fading trees until all the world is changed and all the years of your long life are utterly spent."

Elrond sat upon Arwen's bed, where she still sat crying. She broke into a sob. Figwit immediately left. This was not his dispute. He didn't not enjoy that task; he felt oddly dirty. He couldn't believe Arwen had found love in a Man. Anyone, Man or Elf, that had found his way into the Lady Arwen's heart had to be extraordinary.

"Figwit!"

It was Linwe. Now what? Probably, he thought, Faramir had not returned to the melodramatic Eowyn and had found some woman of his own country to court. Beauty or no, he thought, melodrama was _annoying_.

"Figwit," Linwe said, "You must come quickly! The Steward is about to confront his lady love!"

Aha, this was important, in some land populated by Linwe alone. Figwit went to Linwe, and they sat before her washbasin and watched Faramir go to Eowyn, alone in the gardens. She wore the starry-blue mantle Faramir had given her a few days earlier, when the Ring-Bearer had thrown Sauron's Ring into Mount Doom. This was how Figwit remembered it. Linwe had applauded when Faramir and Eowyn, intent on watching the battle from the walls of the City, had clasped hands, and giggled and fidgeted when Faramir had kissed her on the forehead, and had therefore named it "the Day They Held Hands."

Faramir spoke. "Eowyn, why do you tarry here, and not go rejoicing in Cormallen beyond Cair Andros, where your brother awaits you?"

Eowyn turned to look at him. She was paler since last Figwit had seen her.

She said, "Do you not know?"

"No," Linwe hissed, "He _doesn't_ so _tell him_."

Faramir looked her over. Eowyn looked right back. Figwit respected her for it; other women Linwe had matched could never look their suitors in the eye.

"Two reasons there may be," Faramir said, "But which is true, I do not know."

"She loves you, stupid!" Linwe cried. Figwit gestured for quiet as Eowyn told Faramir to speak plainer.

Faramir explained: "You do not go, because only your brother called you, and to look on Lord Aragorn, Elendil's heir, in his triumph would now bring you no joy." He looked at her closer now, to see her reaction; she hung her face, so her blonde hair hid her from his sight. Faramir continued. "Or because I do not go."

Eowyn lifted her head up, but it was turned, so neither Figwit nor Faramir could see her expression. Linwe sighed impatiently and began tapping a rhythm on her thighs. Figwit grabbed a hand to stop it.

Faramir said, "Because you still desire to be near me."

Eowyn did not move.

"And maybe," said Faramir, "For both these reasons. And you yourself cannot choose between them."

Eowyn ducked her head again. Faramir stepped one way, and then another; he wasn't quite pacing. Linwe squeezed Figwit's hand until it hurt. Figwit pulled it away. He hadn't realized he had kept it there.

"Eowyn," said Faramir, "Do you not love me, or will you not?"

Eowyn moved her head again, enough so that Figwit could see her wet eyes. "I wished to be loved by another," she said, "But I deserve no man's pity."

Linwe moaned. Figwit shot her a look.

"Figwit!" she said, "She's not cooperating!"

"Not everything works out the way you want it," Figwit said. "She doesn't love him, and that's that."

"No!" said Linwe. "Don't say that! She does!"

"When he gave you only understanding and pity," Faramir was saying, "Then you desired nothing, except a brave death in battle."

He looked at Eowyn, who was looking down again, her face unseen.

"Look at me, Eowyn."

Figwit shook his head. There was nothing he could do. He just wasn't Aragorn.

Eowyn looked up. Her eyes may have been wet, but her face was stoney and proud. Faramir shook his head. "Do not scorn the gift that is a gentle heart, Eowyn! For I do not offer you my pity. For you are a lady high and valiant and have won yourself renown that shall not be forgotten; and you are a lady beautiful, I deem, beyond even the Elven-tongue to tell."

Figwit and Linwe sat up in their chairs.

"And I love you," said Faramir.

Linwe squeaked and said, "I forgive him!"

Figwit shushed her.

"Once I pitied your sorrow, but now, were you sorrowless…" Faramir seemed ready to wax poetic. Figwit half-hoped Linwe would interrupt again, but she stared intently at her bowl. "…were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you."

He looked at Eowyn. Eowyn was looking straight ahead, more at his chest. A strange look had crossed her face.

"Eowyn," said Faramir, "Do you not love me?"

Eowyn took a deep breath. She looked up at him, and she smiled. Linwe gasped.

"I do not desire to be a Queen," she said. Faramir laughed.

Linwe giggled and smacked Figwit's knee. He slapped hers in return.

"That is well," said Faramir, "For I am not a King. Yet I will wed the White Lady of Rohan, if it be her will, and if she will, then let us cross the River and in happier days let us dwell in fair Ithilien…" He went on, but Linwe was hugging Figwit and shrieking in his ear.

"Figwit!" she cried, dancing around. "Figwit! We must attend their wedding!"

Figwit rubbed his ear.

"That's two heroes!" she said. "Who are the other ones?"

Figwit thought.

"Aragorn, of course," Linwe said. "And Eowyn's brother Eomer. And the Halfling. Oh, no," she sighed. "There aren't any more girl heroes."

At _Aragorn_, Figwit immediately thought of his cousin, and her love for the Man. He understood why they had to be separated from each other, of course. She belonged with her people, not some mortal Man, no matter how great or powerful he may be. He decided not to mention Arwen to Linwe. She would want to set them up. He remembered the vision of the future Elrond had given him, of Arwen wandering in the woods, mourning for all eternity. He kept his mouth closed, and he smiled for Linwe.


	5. Destiny

I had writer's block for about a day or so. It didn't seem right to just stick them right there in the wedding, like I had originally planned. So, hopefully this will still work. Also, **this is important**, my timeline is way off; all this stuff with Arwen is supposed to happen in the Two Towers, not ROTK like the story is actually set. So bear with me here. I apologize and will try to make it work.

This stuff was all made by J.R.R. Tolkien/Peter Jackson/Fran Walsh. I only invented Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author_

-----------------------

"Are you packed?" Arwen's voice was a hush. Figwit nodded. His cousin entered and sat upon his bed. She looked at his small bag, teardrop-shaped. She said, "I suppose you will be traveling with Linwe."

Figwit shrugged. Actually, he had thought they would be traveling in a large group, together.

Arwen looked out the window. Figwit felt as if he should say something.

She stood up. Figwit thought hard. He had never been very good at saying…anything, really. The image floated through his mind, of Arwen mourning alone at Aragorn's grave, her face hidden by the dark veil. Was there anything he could say?

"Figwit!"

He shot her an apologetic glance and went to his door. Linwe stood on the path, her hands shaking.

"Where have you _been_?" she cried. "I've been looking all over. I can never find you. Figwit! It's happening today! They're getting married! They're going to live happily ever after and live in a pretty house with lots of flowers and babies and it's happening _today_!"

Figwit immediately looked at his lovesick cousin, and turned and hurried to Linwe. He put a finger to his lips to shush her.

"What's going on?" she asked.

He tried to think of an answer to that.

"Was someone in there with you?"

He tried to think of an answer to that, too.

"Oh, well!" Linwe grabbed his arm and began pulling him to her room. "I could find you _anywhere_, Figwit, and I looked everywhere. I looked in the libraries and the armory and the kitchens and the archives – you weren't anywhere!"

"I was in my room."

"Yes!" said Linwe. "Well!"

They hurried into her room. Linwe hadn't even poured the water for her washbasin yet. Figwit sat and straightened and dusted his clothes, while Linwe scooped some water from the fountain and poured it into her bowl. She twirled it around, her eyes flashing, until she found what she was looking for. She sat down immediately, wiping her finger on her skirt.

Eomer, now the King of Rohan after the death of Theoden King, was walking with Eowyn down an aisle.

"Ooh," said Linwe. "I like her dress." Her feet were tapping anxiously, but she was also thinking; her brow was drawn and she was tapping her lip. Figwit knew that he didn't look on the King of Rohan, but Linwe's future victim.

Brother and sister arrived at the altar, where Eomer handed his sister off to a smiling Faramir. Eowyn of Rohan and Steward Faramir took hands and stepped forward together for the rest of the proceedings, and the rest of their lives. Linwe rubbed her hands together and Figwit bent down to find a handkerchief by the basin; Linwe was wont to cry at weddings.

Suddenly, he heard her gasp. Figwit sat up, half-expecting something terrible to be happening at the wedding. No. It was a normal wedding. Everyone was at least pretending to be paying attention. He looked at Linwe for an explanation.

"Figwit, I have it," she said. "There stands Eomer King of the kingdom of Rohan on one side, and on the other, _look_."

It was Lothiriel, the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth.

"It's perfect!" Linwe said. "Oh! This is going to be so much fun!"


	6. Begins

I went back and deleted four chapters of this story. It wasn't good enough. So here's your new chapter six. Some of you may recall this situation. Well, it's more proper than before, in my mind. Even if this chapter is incredibly short (228 words)

Once again, I don't own anything except Linwe. Everything else is Tolkien's and New Line Cinema's. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

"Look, Figwit," Linwe's voice was hushed. "Everyone's _glowing_. It's so pretty." Figwit nodded. "I guess I expected the exodus to be ugly. But you know everyone got an extra bath before the big move. No smelliness for us. Besides that horse, but he can't help it."

On Figwit's other side, Arwen's face was drawn and serious. She looked, in fact, positively grave, like a Man coming to pay his respects to Lord Elrond. She was leaving her father, Figwit told himself, and everything else she had ever known, for a paradise she had only heard about.

She was also leaving Aragorn. Figwit told himself that his cousin wasn't foolish enough to be depressed over leaving a boy. Except that his cousin _was_ no fool, and Aragorn _was_ not just a boy, he was quite a Man.

"They're singing up ahead," Linwe said. "Should we join in?"

Figwit listened. It was a ballad of Beren and Luthien, the verse where Luthien bemoaned leaving the houses of her immortal people for the mortal ones of Beren. Linwe began humming along, looking for someone else to join in. He looked again at Arwen, who was looking at the road.

"The road goes ever on," she said.

"Take her by the safest road," Elrond had told him. A ship lies anchored in the Gray Havens. It waits to carry her across the sea – the last journey of Arwen Undomiel."

Figwit reached up and patted her shoulder. She looked at him, surprised. He gave her a smile.

"All will be well," he whispered.

Linwe began singing.

Arwen returned his smile. She had given him better smiles in the past; but still the smile was there. Perhaps it would all be well.


	7. Unfolding

Well, clearly, not all will be well -- yet. Otherwise there wouldn't be a story to tell.

In case you didn't get the memo last time: I'm rewriting the ending of Matchmaker.

I don't own any of this except for Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

They walked across valleys and made paths through trees. They passed great waterfalls and stepped through bubbling creeks. Shadows whispered at them as they passed; the sun seemed misty and old before their eyes. The world had changed since when the elves had first sailed West.

Never had there been a greater understatement, Figwit mused.

They carved a path that few had seen for Ages. Others had gone before, but the Rivendell group still stamped on some insistent plants and tripped over some roots. Arwen seemed most in danger, to Figwit's mind. Her eyes never left the ground, and yet she never looked where she was going.

Linwe seemed to have forgotten her dread of the unseen Undying Lands. She hopped with glee over roots and kicked dirt at Figwit, teasing him into kicking dirt at her in return. She skipped behind him and in front of him, humming odd little tunes Figwit didn't recognize.

She had taken hold of Arwen's arm and was whispering to her when the announcement had made its way down to them. They would soon encounter a fork in the road. One way led East, and one led West. Pay attention, said the messengers. Make certain that you stay in the group; it would be very easy to let your mind wander, and then one would turn right instead of left, and be trapped in Middle Earth forever.

Linwe snorted disgracefully. "As if we wouldn't notice we weren't surrounded by people anymore," she said. "Do they think we're children? Will no one notice if one person is missing?"

"Mm-hm," said Figwit.

"Good," said Linwe. "We're agreed, then. When everyone turns right for the Grey Havens, we'll turn left."

Figwit and Arwen stared at her.

"We're not finished yet," said Linwe. "I still have Eomer and Sam and Aragorn to match up. I told you about that," she said to Arwen. "Eomer is marrying the Princess of Dol Amroth _if I can just get him to look at her_ and then I did a little observation and I noticed that the Halfling keeps on talking about this girl Rosie, which only leaves Aragorn."

Figwit wished he knew how to get Linwe to change the subject.

"Aragorn's a tough one," said Linwe. "I worked very hard on him, you know, and he's grown into a very handsome Man. Very dignified and hard-working, and kind, too. All he needs is an excellent Queen. The obvious ones are Eowyn of Rohan and Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, but oops, they're taken. Do you have any ideas?"

Arwen excused herself from the conversation, and wandered away.

"What's wrong with her?" Linwe wondered. "Figwit? Do you know?"

Figwit scratched behind his ear and didn't respond, or at least, didn't think he did.

Linwe grabbed onto his arm and shook it. "She loves him, doesn't she? She's in love with a mortal! And all this time I've been singing a song about elf girls loving human men. I'm so _tactless_. Well, Figwit, we've got to convince her to come with us to Gondor. I mean, she's so pretty, he probably loves her, too. Good looks run in your family."

Figwit looked at her curiously, wondering where _that_ had come from, or why she suddenly was blushing.

She cleared her throat. "I had something caught in my throat." She hurried on, "But I think the best thing to do is to just show up at Gondor with Arwen, and the rest will take care of itself. They love each other already. I know it."

Figwit cleared his throat. She looked at him.

"Linwe," he said, "We're going to the Undying Lands."

"No, _they_ are," Linwe said. "_We_ have some matches to make."

"Linwe," he said, "I'm going to the Undying Lands."

She stared at him. Her blue eyes were as big as saucers; her mouth seemed to grow smaller by contrast, or perhaps on purpose.

"And," he said, "I think it's best if Lady Arwen goes too."

"You can't go!" Linwe's voice was hushed. "I need you with me."

No she didn't.

"I can't do this without you," Linwe said. "And I need Arwen for Aragorn."

"I think you'll manage fine," said Figwit.

She stared at him again, her eyes like saucers again.

"You always do," he reminded her.

"But," said Linwe, "But. Love."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and nothing more was said the rest of the way. When they arrived at the announced fork, Linwe turned left instead of right. All the Elves called after her to return to the group, to finish the journey Home. They urged Figwit to call for her. He did; she didn't come, and he hadn't expected her to.


	8. Hatching

Yay! Back to the Matchmaking goodness!

I don't own anything except for Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

Linwe's face was turned down as she sipped her tea, but she didn't take her eyes off of the Lady Eowyn for once second. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn that Eowyn was glowing, like the other elves journeying to the Undying Lands. Her hair was up, somehow matching the smile on her face, and her collar was high. She kept on touching the collar, too, as if to make certain it was still there. When she did, her cheeks flushed.

"Congratulations," Linwe said.

Eowyn's whole face became pink, and she said, "Thank you."

"But I know that everyone's wondering who's next," said Linwe.

Eowyn shrugged. "I don't know. I haven't really been paying attention to a whole lot lately."

Linwe gulped her tea to cover up her wide grin. "Well," she said, "What about your brother?"

"Eomer pays attention to everything. Oh!" Eowyn laughed. "You mean getting married. It would take four horses to drag him into a wedding chapel. Well, if he were the groom, I mean. He certainly was glad to serve at _my_ wedding." She played with her collar again and blushed again, not looking Linwe in the eye. She was smiling, practically glowing again.

"Has he ever been in love?"

"Once," Eowyn looked up at Linwe again. "That was a long time ago. She didn't love him."

"Why not?" Linwe asked. "He's very handsome. And big. Very big."

Eowyn laughed. "I don't know," she admitted.

"What about," Linwe had to keep herself from grinning again all on her own. Now wouldn't be a good time to take a sip of tea. "What about the Princess Lothiriel?"

"I don't know," Eowyn said. "I know she's not married, but I've hardly talked to her. She seems sensible, which I love, but she's also kind of a prude. When the Lady of Blackroot asked about my wedding night, she actually clapped her hands over her ears and started humming."

They both laughed.

"I think she'll have an arranged marriage," Eowyn said. "There has been a rumor that the Prince of Dol Amroth has been trying to convince Lord Aragorn to marry her, but the Lord Aragorn seems resistant somehow."

Linwe knew exactly why Lord Aragorn was resisting the Prince, and took another sip of tea to cover it up. She said, "What about your brother Eomer?"

Eowyn frowned and said, "We've already talked about him."

"No," said Linwe, "I mean, to marry Lothiriel."

Eowyn laughed. Linwe simply sat and smiled. "You're serious," she said.

"Yes," said Linwe. "And I have just the plan to get them together."

"What are you, some kind of a matchmaker?"

If Figwit were here, she could have laughed, and Figwit would have smiled, and then they could have said it was an Elvish thing that Lady Eowyn wouldn't understand. She had to hide her grin again; here was half of a successful match sitting right in front of her, having no idea what Linwe had done for her. She thought that it had all happened on their own – fate. How utterly romantic.

"That is exactly what I am," Linwe said. "And here's the plan. We convince Eomer that Lothiriel is in love with him, and then we convince Lothiriel that Eomer is in love with her, and then we see the results happen in front of our very eyes."

"Well," said Eowyn, "She is very sensible, which would be a great help in rebuilding Rohan. She's not so girly that Eomer wouldn't stand her. And, I do know that a few nights in a wedding bed will knock the prudishness out of anyone – I agree, they would be good for each other."

"It is settled," said Linwe. "Tomorrow we begin our attacks. This will be fun."


	9. Revealing

Wait. Nothing to say. Well, except, I don't own anything except for Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

Eowyn stared at the flowers before her in horror. Linwe merely smiled as she arranged her bouquet. If she knew one thing, it was flowers. The florist had been very eager to help, early on, until a small altercation had resulted from him pretending that flowers of course _weren't_ magic. "These are pretty," he would say, and he'd hold up some ridiculous combination, like daffodils and begonias. Now he was hiding in some corner of the shop, spraying flowers. As if his flowers had no message in them at all.

"Some red carnations," Linwe said. "For admiration. Orange blossoms, of course, and red roses, ah, in full bloom. Very nice." She placed one in the very center. Eowyn lifted her hand for more roses, but Linwe waved it away. "One rose says 'I love you.' Many roses say 'thank you.' And your brother hasn't given her anything – _yet_."

"Wait," said Eowyn, "These aren't for Lothiriel?"

"No," said Linwe. "Duh. These are to convince your brother that he has a secret admirer. And then you, his loving sister, are going to come and talk about how lovesick poor Lothiriel, isn't it a shame, she's so pretty and smart and sensible and all those other things you talked about."

"That doesn't make any sense, though," Eowyn said. "My brother knows a lot about flowers, but I know that there aren't many flowers by the sea. How would the Princess of the Sea know that carnations mean admiration?"

Linwe sniffed. "_Red_ carnations mean admiration. Carnations of all colors can mean everything from rejection to pure love. Here, multicolored tulips. For beautiful eyes. Your brother has very nice eyes, you know."

"But how would Lothiriel know these things?"

"Everyone knows your brother has nice eyes."

"No, about the flowers."

"Oh." This was easier with Figwit. He could communicate without opening his mouth. Words were so weird. "Well, I don't know. She had help."

A bell was heard far off. The hair on Linwe's nape pricked. Eowyn looked up to see who the new customer was, and her eyes widened. "Lady Linwe," she said, "It's Princess Lothiriel!"

Unexpected! "Act natural," Linwe said.

"In a flower shop?" Eowyn made a face.

Within seconds, Lady Lothiriel and her train had joined them. The florist looked ready to faint at the sight of all of the noble ladies in his flower shop. He nearly started spraying himself.

"That's a pretty bunch," said Lothiriel. Her voice had an odd tone to it – whimsical and musical. It would be fascinating to hear her sing, thought Linwe. Her jet-black hair was neatly tied into very modest braids, and her neckline was high enough to bump into her chin, unlike Eowyn's utilitarian high collar, which only barely covered the purple hickeys of a new bride. Yet Lothiriel's eyes were bright and grey, and her lips her plump and dimpled. She would be very pretty, if she lowered that ridiculous collar.

"Yes," said Linwe. "Red carnations, for admiration, orange blossoms for eternal love and maybe even for marriage, and a single red blossomed rose for Love, sweet love. Oh yes," she stuck the multicolored tulips in, "For beautiful eyes."

"It sounds very romantic," said Lothiriel. "Can I smell it?"

Linwe shoved the bouquet towards her. Lothiriel closed her eyes as she sniffed them. "Very nice," she said, although it was clear she hadn't the slightest clue what was nice about them. Eowyn was sending her odd looks, and Lothiriel said, "If I may, who are you going to buy flowers for?"

Lothiriel blushed pink and lowered eyes, very maidenly. Eowyn's odd looks grew more and more significant. Linwe grinned widely at both the noble Ladies.

"We weren't going to buy them at all, Lady Lothiriel," said Linwe. "I find flower arranging to be very relaxing, that's all. What we were discussing was Eomer King."

All the ladies stared at her, Eowyn astonished and Lothiriel nearly red as red as the roses in Linwe's vase.

"What we were saying," said Linwe, "Was that even though he was such a handsome and hard-working and honorable and good sort of Man he couldn't go and rule an entire Golden kingdom all by himself. That he would need some sort of modest and hard-working and very, very, very pretty woman to help him. We were talking about what sort of people want to run such a golden and kind would land such as Rohan."

"Oh, yes," said Eowyn. "Linwe was telling me what a woman would see in my brother, because I don't know, I think the whole idea is weird in the first place. So she told me, a woman looking for eternal love and, um…beautiful eyes, would want the position as Queen of Rohan."

"And I've noticed lately," said Linwe, "That since Lady Eowyn's wedding he's been acting very strange."

"He has?" Eowyn looked surprised.

"Yes," said Linwe, "He has. Staying in his rooms a lot, staring dolefully out windows…"

"Oh, yes," said Eowyn, "He's always telling me that he's always wanted to visit the sea."

"He has?" Now Linwe was surprised.

"Yes," said Eowyn. "He has."

"Alright," said Linwe. "And anyway, we were role-playing. Trying to imagine what kind of flowers an admirer of Eomer would want to send him. Hmm." She slid the vase forward a little with the knuckles of her middle fingers. "Someone who admired his beautiful eyes and his calm and honorable ways. His very strong hands."

Eowyn glared at her.

"Just a thought," said Linwe. "Well, I'm famished. Shall we go to eat, Eowyn?"

"Excellent idea," said Eowyn, gathering up her skirts. She adjusted her collar so the discoloration wasn't quite so obvious. They stepped out into the sunny white city. "Except," she said, "That Faramir and I have arranged to have a private lunch together."

Linwe grinned. She wondered how much eating would actually take place at this private lunch. She glanced through the window as they walked past the rest of the shop. Lothiriel was placing Linwe's pre-selected bouquet on the florist's counter.

Linwe squealed with delight.

"What was that?" Eowyn asked.

"Nothing," said Linwe.

"Oh," said Eowyn. "It sounded odd, whatever it was."

Linwe laughed.


	10. Something

Yes! I have fought through my clouds of inexistence to write...fluffy fanfiction. Wow.

Anyway...

I don't own anything except Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author_

* * *

"Eowyn," said Eomer the very next day, "We never play chess anymore."

"This is true," said Eowyn. "But I must say, Faramir is a much better opponent than you are."

"Oh?" Eomer made a face as if he were slighted, but Linwe saw him suppressing his grin. A true romantic at heart, she thought, for all that golden brawn. Eowyn wasn't fooled either.

As Eomer brought out the chess set, Eowyn suddenly blushed and shook in giggles. Linwe was ready to interfere, but Eowyn managed to control herself, and she sat up very primly, and suddenly looked for all the world like a blonde Lothiriel, modest and blushing. No one was fooled at this display. Eomer rolled his eyes and began setting up the pieces.

Linwe leaned over to Eowyn and whispered, "Do you ever play chess with Lothiriel?"

Eowyn rolled her eyes. "Do you _ever_ think of anything besides matchmaking?" Her voice was low. Linwe quickly glanced at Eomer to make sure it was low enough. He glanced at them, but continued setting little tiny round people pieces all in a row on the board.

"Of course not," said Linwe.

"We played once," said Eowyn. "She's a good player, but she goes about it leisurely. It's as if she's only playing for fun or something."

"Isn't it a 'game'?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

"Ready," said Eomer.

Linwe stared at them as they played. No wonder Eowyn didn't like Lothiriel's leisurely playing style; the hands of the players were a blur over the board, and the pieces moved quicker than Linwe could keep of track of them. In no time at all, the first round was over, and the humans began setting up the board again. Linwe had no idea who won. She had never played chess in her life.

"I'm sorry," said Eomer. "You must be bored, Lady Linwe."

"Not at all," said Linwe. "I was just thinking about who it might be fun to play such a game against."

Eowyn rolled her eyes as Eomer asked, "Who, Lady?"

"The Lady Lothiriel," said Linwe. "Have you met her?"

"Yes," said Eomer. "I danced with her at Eowyn's wedding."

"What'd you think?" Linwe leaned back in her chair with an air of mystery, and winced. The cushions that were placed to soften the chair felt like hard lumps on her back. She'd never imagined she would miss the chairs of Rivendell.

"I thought," (it was several intense moments before the sentence was continued) "that she seemed like a pleasant maid." After another several moments of intense playing, he said, "I didn't take her for a chess player."

"Maybe she hasn't had enough experience," said Linwe. "Maybe you could train her."

Eowyn looked up, a castle piece held tightly in her hands. "Train her?"

"Teach her," said Linwe. "Teach her to play chess. Fast. Like you do. It could work."

Eowyn placed the castle thing back on the board. Eomer moved a piece that looked like a man in armor riding a horse, and then said, "I doubt that would be appropriate."

"What?" Linwe sat up again. "Why not? Why wouldn't it be appropriate for you to play chess with the Princess?"

The humans stared at her odd reaction. They looked at each other. Eowyn moved a little round person thing.

"Because," said Eomer, moving his own castle piece, "That would look like I was courting her."

"And that's a problem?"

"Yes," said Eomer, "I'm not courting her."

"Why not?"

Eomer looked at her curiously. Eowyn hissed at her.

"Well," said Eomer, "I'm just not, that's all."

"Why don't you?"

"Linwe!" Eowyn hissed.

Linwe shot her a look.

Eomer was now looking curiously between the two women, and after a moment he said, "I wouldn't object to it, really, she's very lovely." Linwe bit her knuckle to stop from squeaking; she wasn't quite successful. "It's just," said Eomer, "That I think that she's meant for Lord Aragorn. The Prince of Dol Amroth has been talking to Aragorn about it for so long."

Linwe grinned. That was easy!

"Eomer," she said, "Aragorn is in love with my friend's cousin. He's not going to marry Lothiriel!"

"Oh," said Eomer. He sat back. "Well then."

"So," said Linwe. "Is anything stopping you _now_?"

"Well," said Eomer. "I don't know."

Linwe squinted at him. She remembered Eowyn saying that he had been in love with someone before, and that it had gone badly. How does one overcome that? Linwe thought back to all of the couples she had set up over the years; all the lovesick and the proud and the silly and the shy people that made up these couples. How _had_ she gotten them not scared anymore?

She tossed her head casually. "Of course," she said, "There's no pressure. I was just thinking you wouldn't want to go back to the Golden Hall all alone."

"Hmm," said Eomer.


	11. Important

As always, I don't own anything except for Linwe. And I have a Plan. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

Eomer was drumming his fingers on the table. Lothiriel's hand hovered above the chess board, pinched like a claw. In several moments, it would drop, and lift a piece, before setting it back down.

"Princess Lothiriel," Eomer was heard to say, "If you would please take your move while we're still young."

Linwe grinned. She sat her chin on her hands and waited for Lothiriel's response. Perhaps neither human knew she was watching. She was on a balcony, high above them, looking down. Next to her, Eowyn sighed impatiently and fidgeted, sometimes with her collar, sometimes with her glove.

"It's _warm_ out," she whispered. "Why do we have to wear these? And why are we watching them, anyway?"

"It isn't obvious?"

"No," Eowyn's voice was low, not quite whispering. "We're eavesdropping."

"We're watching them fall in love," Linwe whispered. "It's cute."

"It's boring."

"Eowyn," said Linwe, "How can you be bored by watching the greatest miracle of all?"

"Birth?"

"Love." Linwe sighed. It was as if there were no romantic inclinations in the girl at all. Where was the girl who saw the romance in falling in love with a King while he was still but a Ranger? "They're falling in love. The pieces are coming together, and they will live happily ever after the end."

Eowyn made a face.

"It's sweet," Linwe told her.

Eowyn rolled her eyes.

Linwe sighed. Figwit thought it was sweet. He thought it was cute. He thought it was very good even if he wasn't jumping up and down when it happened like Linwe was.

Lothiriel spoke. "I'll go when I want to."

"You're free to go," Eomer said.

"I know," said Lothiriel. "I just don't know what the best move is."

Eomer snatched a piece (Linwe couldn't tell which one) and moved it. "That's the best move," he said.

Lothiriel stared at the board. "How do you know?"

Eomer said, "Judging by your erratic and random moves, you're more of a defensive player. That move blocks any potential of my Rook coming near your King."

"His what?" Linwe whispered.

"The castle."

"Oh."

"How do you know?" Lothiriel asked.

"Well," said Eomer, "I'm always aware of where every one of all of the pieces could potentially go. That way if I have to change my strategy, it won't _take me forever to move_."

Lothiriel stuck her tongue out at him. "Poo to you for having a strategy."

Eomer grinned. "You don't have a strategy?"

"Yes," said Lothiriel. "I'm a defensive player." She paused. "Like you said."

Eomer stared at her in disbelief.

Lothiriel smiled at him.

"You know," said Eomer, "You have a very pretty smile."

"Thank you," said Lothiriel. "Are you planning on taking your turn anytime soon?"

There were footsteps down the corridor. Linwe and Eowyn looked to see who it was; Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. He looked at them curiously, and then leaned on the banister and watched his daughter and Eomer play chess. He was tall and black-haired, red-skinned from sun and exuberance, and extremely big. Linwe had been frightened the first time she had ever seen him in person.

He greeted them simply, and then said, "I suppose any King would do for her."

"Oh, yes," said Linwe. "I suppose _just_ _any_ King would do."

The humans looked at her curiously. Figwit would have laughed, Linwe thought.

"I'm going to go see what's for dinner," said Eowyn, and she curtsied to them both, and left. Linwe and the Prince looked down, and watched as the chess game dissolved into nonsense, and the two lovers began throwing chess pieces at each other, laughing. Linwe sighed. It just wasn't as wonderful without Figwit.


	12. Which Is

Penultimate Chapter! Sorry about the long delay. Writer's block, I swear.

I don't own any of this except for Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

The air was foggy as the morning dew evaporated. The ground beneath, usually crunchy from last year's leaves, barely made a sound beneath their feet. A bird chirped loudly nearby, a bizarre cross between a bell and a song. Figwit glanced behind, at his fair cousin, riding the white horse. Her face was pointed; she watched the ground, as most did, but it was clear she wasn't looking for root and rocks that obtruded her path.

"Take her by the safest road," Lord Elrond had said. "A ship lies anchored for the Grey Havens. It waits to carry her across the sea.

"The last journey of Arwen Undomiel."

Why did his uncle's instructions keep echoing in his mind? Why should Arwen look so forlorn, so sad, this close to home? She was _not_ some foolish girl to lose her head over some Man. There were scores of men around her, although they were silent, unlike most men, who would be loud and chatty on a long journey.

Not a little like Linwe.

Figwit sighed. She was a regret, too. Perhaps she was regretting her decision now. Perhaps she was following them here. Maybe they could wait a while, a few hours, before leaving, so she could catch up.

That was ridiculous. Linwe had, for some reason, found more ties in Middle-Earth than at home. She liked to cause disturbance and ruin peace, not dwell and maintain it like so many others did.

He gazed out at the scenery around him. There weren't any flowers or fruits about, but this point in the journey remind Figwit of the Undying Lands. All the peace and quiet – perhaps _too_ quiet – he wondered if someone would start singing again. He glanced about, but everyone had a look of mediation on their faces.

Maybe he ought to start it. Surely it couldn't be that hard.

He cleared his throat. Nearby, Finrod glared at him. Figwit began humming – _start high, two octaves down, a half step up, hold it – skip one and a half octaves up – another one – half step down – one full octave-_

"Excuse me," said Finrod, "But you're disturbing my premeditative state of nirvana."

Figwit stared at him until he went away.

It occurred to him that he didn't usually enjoy humming, or making any sort of music at all, nor did he enjoy being noticed. He certainly hadn't been the type to stare a man down – maybe he could stare Linwe down, but Linwe couldn't be stared at for more than fourteen seconds without bursting into giggles and trying to grab him. In fact, it was kind of cute, that look she would get sometimes, angry but laughing inside. He didn't know any other elf maid who got a look like that.

Why was she such a fool about love?

He turned his head to look at Arwen again.

Why were her eyes so sad?

Wasn't she going to the Place of Peace, to a life where there would be, well, Life? The destiny of all Men was to die. If she loved him so, wouldn't she miss him when anyway? Would her heart be broken just as much if he died – left her? He thought of all of the images of the future Lord Elrond had given him – the coronation of Lord Elrond, his son, his death, his funeral…

His son?

He remembered the image again. The dark-haired child, running to his father – being picked up – Figwit could nearly hear the child's giggles – and Lord Aragorn kissed the boy on the cheek, in fatherly love…Arwen's Evenstar hung from the boy's neck…

How could anyone be denied their child?

Was this the Aragorn that Arwen loved? Not the mortal, worried warrior, but the kindly, wisened husband?

Could this be True, Unbroken Love?

What was True, Unbroken Love?

What was Love, of any sort? It was tossed around so often – I love that dress, I love that book – how could anyone define what Love was? How in the world would someone as outwardly foolish as Linwe understand any of it, when she was too busy prattling on to think?

He looked back at Lady Arwen, paler than usual. He sent her the image – the child ran through the forest. She lifted her eyes, following the boy as if he were really there. She stopped her horse. Before her eyes, he knew, the forest became like a stone castle, and the boy ran to his father, who swung him around and kissed his cheek…the boy stared back, as if into eternity.

Figwit dared to look at her. Her eyes were wet.

Linwe was not the only one who desired to go to Gondor.

"My Lady," he said. Arwen jumped, looked at him. "We cannot delay," he said.

She flicked the reins of the horse and turned it around, riding off down the path.

"My Lady?" he called.

He smiled.

He tried to imagine the future, when Arwen showed up at Minas Tirith. It will be fun, he thought.


	13. The End

Well, what do I want to say? Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, they really kept me going - I mean that. Thanks for reading this story, and making it my most popular one (so far? or always? O.o).

And, as always, I only own Linwe. Enjoy!

-_The Author

* * *

_

The silver crown was placed on Aragorn's head. It fit perfectly.

"Now come the days of the King!"

She watched as Mithrandir winked and murmured to King Aragorn. Linwe and all the crowd cheered as Aragorn stood and turned to face the many gathered here. He began to give a boring speech about unity and humility; she faded out and began examining the hands of many of those around her. So many were unmarried, Linwe thought. She sized up a pretty girl with dark blond hair in a lovely green dress that matched her eyes (excellent choice) and noticed and soldier, farther down, with grey eyes and reddish hair. He was a particularly clean soldier, she thought. She looked back and forth from the girl to the soldier, and thought, it would be perfect.

It _would_ be perfect, if she had Figwit here. Her companions were the Steward and his bride, who were so in love it was almost irritating. She had been _too_ successful, she thought.

Aragorn finished – the crowd cheered again, and the white blossoms from the tree floated through the air, adding hope to the people around her. Linwe sighed through her teeth. Faramir and Eowyn grinned cheesily at each other. Aragorn began singing.

This is _too much_, Linwe thought, shifting from one foot to another. And the worst bit was, Figwit was not here, which meant that Arwen wasn't, which meant that she had to wait _at least three months_ before coming up with a suitable match so he could have proper mourning time. How in the world could a man rebuild a country without a wife, anyway?

He went and walked among his people. They bowed properly, of course. Linwe bowed with Eowyn and Faramir. Eomer stepped out to bow (alone? Where was Lothiriel? Well, they weren't married yet, she supposed she was with her father).

Then, surprises of surprises, _they_ stepped forward, swaying together as if it were a dance. They were led by that one Prince, the golden-haired Silvan Prince, Legolas. Aragorn smiled and put his hand on the Prince's shoulder. Legolas returned the gesture. They spoke, and the Legolas gestured again, over his shoulder. Linwe looked. Was that, just for a second, did she see Figwit's face among the Elves assembled?

_I'm imagining things_, Linwe told herself. _You just miss him, that's all._

The elves stepped away, as if in a dance, again, to reveal the lead dancer. In this case, the lead dancer was a woman holding a flag before her face. She moved it the flag away – and it was the beautiful Lady Arwen.

_Squee!_

Lord Elrond whispered in her ear, touched her a little, and Arwen moved forward, her face disbelieving and dreamlike. Aragorn moved forward, too, although Linwe couldn't see his face. Her mind went from one thought to the next, from _squee_ to _cute_ to _they're taking too long to walk forward_ to _if Arwen's here, where's Figwit?_

King and Lady stopped just feet from each other. Arwen was breathing hard, her eyes wet, but still staring at Aragorn. Finally she lowered her head – _she bowed._

What! No! That wasn't right!

Aragorn seemed to agree. He lifted her head, she smiled, and he kissed her.

_SQUEEEEE!_ Linwe shook with glee and led the crowd in applauding. The flag was forgotten – some young woman took it. The two lovers spun as they kissed, madly in love, and stopped, and kissed again. They touched each other, and Arwen laughed and hugged him.

They held hands and walked among the people again, Arwen shining like a queen and Aragorn looking much more comfortable. Linwe looked across the crowd at the elves again and saw Figwit, again. He was much more real this time, and he _stayed_ there for more than a second. The crowd was filling in behind their new King, and Linwe moved to stand with Figwit.

"Figgy!" she said.

He smiled.

"Did you do this?"

Figwit nodded, grinning some more, playing with the edges of his sleeves.

Linwe grabbed him and hugged him, squealing. He returned the hug, patting her back. She pulled away, but somehow she couldn't let go of him. She held onto his precious sleeves instead.

"Figwit!" she said.

"Linwe," he said.

Another _squee_ came up in her throat, but it was interrupted when he kissed her.

When he pulled away, they stared at each other, but Linwe couldn't think of a single thing to say. Around them, the people were bowing down. Linwe and Figwit climbed onto their knees, also, grabbing each other's hands. They were bowing to the four Halflings from that Fellowship.

Figwit whispered in her ear. "It occurred to me that the Undying Lands would be boring without you."

Linwe grinned at him. No words came.

He looked in amazement at her. "I've finally managed to get you quiet, haven't I?"

"Figwit," she said, "Look around! There's so many unmarried people here. And did you know that Men have more babies than Elves? And who's going to marry them all off?"

"We are," said Figwit. "And it'll be fun."

"So much," said Linwe.


End file.
